IT
was morning. All were assembled once more in the great hall, eager
for a termination of their work.

Fresh
troops of men to be enrolled and branded arrived every moment.

Then
came Nai Dhamaphat; the Kromathan, or overseer; and lastly the Grand
Duke, followed by an army of slaves, attendants, scribes, and cup and
punka bearers. As he looked about him he saw, with a gleam of
satisfaction, the veiled figure seated at her post, guarded by
Amazons.

After
a few minutes of conversation with the scribe who sat at his side, he
ordered the prisoner Rama Singalee to be brought in.

No
one remembered when the old, white-headed stranger was ushered in.
But every one heard the wild cry of joy that seemed to die away on
the lips of the strange girl, as, throwing off her saree, she sprang
across the hall, and clasped the old man about the neck. After the
first paroxysm of joy was over, she realized that her father was a
prisoner; she looked still hopefully into his face, but, seeing no
light there, laid her head upon the fetters that bound his feet, as
if the iron had entered into her very soul.

Dhamaphat
started, as if struck, and gazed sadly at the girl and her father.

Never
scene so touching had been presented in that hall before. It arrested
every eye, and filled every heart with sympathy; and it was no
wonder, ó the girl was a creature such as that country had never
before produced.

Her
beauty was of the purest Indo-European type, rich blown complexion,
delicate almond-shaped eyes, finely arched eyebrows, nose almost
Greek in the purity of its outlines. Her feet, which had never worn
either sandals or shoes, were large and perfect in shape; her arms,
slender as those of a very young girl, were set off to great
advantage by the metallic and glass bangles she wore; her rich black
hair hung in long braids over a coarse blue bodice, which revealed a
form of faultless proportions; on her breast, suspended by a yellow
cord, was a flat silver ring, on which some mystic characters were
inscribed.

The
wondrous beauty of the prostrate girl filled the father and the son
first with pleasure, then with fascination, afterwards with rapture;
drawn on by irresistible steps, they both arrived, unknown to the
other, at that stage of passion which blinds the sensibilities to
everything else.

But
the desire of one was to possess, the other to rescue.

The
old soldier did not attempt to raise his daughter, but, taking off Ms
turban, buried his face in it.

The
duke was transported, stupefied; he paused, hesitated, then,
suddenly, without knowing what moved him, he said, in a gentle,
tender voice: "Why, girl? Raise up your head. See! your father
is now going to be set free."

Sm‚yŠtee
lifted up her head, and looked at the speaker with an expression of
childlike gladness and trust that brought to the heart of the wretch
before her the long-lost sense of shame, and he could not for the
moment give utterance to the iniquity he was about to perpetrate
against her; he beckoned to an attendant, however, a sort of
treasurer, with a heavy box, who approached, crawling, and at Ins
instructions counted upon the floor forty pieces of gold, ó sixteen
times the value of an ordinary slave-woman.

Rama
still covered his face with his turban, so that none could have told
what was passing within him. His daughter laid her hand upon his arm,
saying: "O, my father, the good duke gives us all this gold and
promises us freedom! take it, and thank him, that he may permit us to
return home."

The
unhappy Rajpoot turned a look full of mournful tenderness upon his
child. At the same moment the scribe, who had been industriously
writing, laid a paper before him, and said, in rather an
authoritative manner: "Tham Khai khat thedeo" (make the
sale good, i. e., sign the paper).

Even
now it did not occur to the girl what the paper and the forty pieces
of gold meant.

To
her mind they brought visions of freedom, as her heart yearned for
the hills and groves of her native land. She once more whispered to
her father to "take the money, and thank the duke, that he may
let us go back home."

But
the old man looked at her in silence, seemingly unable to utter a
single word; his breathing came quick and hard, and all at once he
gasped out: "The gods forbid me to sell my daughter to thee, my
lord. Indra, Agni, and the Maruts, at whose roaring every dweller
upon earth trembles, forbid me. O, pardon thy servant, my lord, and
let us depart hence in peace."

The
duke was doubly enraged, because of his last night's promise and the
forty pieces of gold with which he had hoped to bribe him into an
easy parting with his child. He turned to the bewildered Sm‚yŠtee,
and said: "Come hither, girl" But as she only looked at
him, and made no attempt to go nearer, he added: "One thing is
certain; this old fool, thy father, is still drunk, and knows not his
mind; he sold you to me last night, and now he refuses, saying the
gods forbid it."

A YOUNG SIAMESE NOBLEMAN

Sm‚yŠtee
turned from the duke to her father, her look changing from
incredulity to surprise, from surprise to anguish, while the duke
continued: "Now it is you who must decide for him; shall I hand
him over to the royal judges to be tried and executed for the crime
he is accused of, or will you consent to be my slave for life? I will
make you rich and happy, and I will give him this gold, and he shall
return in safety to his home."

He
uttered these sentences in a loud, harsh voice, very different from
that in which he had spoken to her a few minutes before.

When
he had finished, the crowd cheered the speech.

The
girl looked at them, and, not knowing why, began to cry.

This
exasperated the duke.

He
blew a small silver whistle; instantly a band of armed men entered
the hall, and he gave orders that the prisoner should be conveyed to
the supreme court to be tried for attacking the chief officer of the
royal guard, with intent to murder him, while he was on duty.

At
this instant the girl seemed to take her resolution; she crawled up
to the savage duke's feet, laid her head down upon them and kissed
them, saying: "I consent to be thy slave, my lord. O, give not
my father up to the king's officers."

The
duke countermanded his orders.

"Yes,"
said she, her face suddenly transfigured, beaming with the twofold
radiance of beauty and nobility of soul, "strike off his chains,
and let him go free, dear, good lord."

There
were no longer any arms being pricked with lancet-shaped needles.
There were no longer any scribes enrolling the people's names. There
were only fixed eyes, listening ears, and beatings of sympathetic
hearts. The crowd was dimly conscious of the sublimity of the act;
they were thrilled, awed, as much by her beauty as by the simplicity
of her heroic self-sacrifice.

But
Dhamaphat, who felt more deeply than the rest, noted how suddenly she
had overcome her horror, how readily she had sacrificed herself for
her father, and thought he saw in her face the effulgence of a
heavenly light.

The
order was given, and the Rajpoot was free. One final embrace, one
look of triumph and despair from the girl, and she was led away by
some female attendants.

Rama
disappeared in the crowd, regardless of the gold, and the paper which
his daughter had signed.

The
work of branding and enrolling went on again, and the red light of
the noonday sun shone upon the walls of the palace as if no young
heart had been broken within its halls that day.

Dhamaphat
left his work and went away, cursing the old priest, his tutor, and
himself, in the impotency of his rage and sorrow.